


Golden Threads

by mssdare



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Glompfest, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity (Sort Of), M/M, Magic, Magic Reveal, Romance, S05 rewrite, Sex Magic, bottom!Arthur, canon character death (not Merlin or Arthur), canon era AU, destiny Warnings: dub-con of fuck-or-die variety, flangst, fuck-or-die, glomp gift, references to rimming, sharing (sort of), sick Merlin, side Arthur/Gwen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:57:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssdare/pseuds/mssdare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur drinks enchanted water Merlin does everything that is in his power to save his king, even if it breaks his heart.<br/>Glompfest story and my “thank you” to the fandom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. “HEAT”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [t.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=t.).



> Dear Glompee (T.)! I do hope this little story will be at least a little bit what you asked for! Thank you for providing the prompt—writing this meant a lot to me!  
> This story started as a picture in my mind, so (even though it feels weird to add fanart to my own fic) I’m posting a little NSFW! drawing to it—hope you like it, too!
> 
> Thank you, my beautiful, best beta and editor ever – **Sonofsilly (Sillygoose)**. Also many, many thanks to **Emmy (ememmyem)** for Britpicking, encouragement and coming up with the perfectly fitting title!
> 
>  **WARNING:** NSFW pic inserted at the end of ch1.

** **

**PART 1**

**“HEAT”**

Merlin could feel the heavy beads of sweat forming on his temples and chest, rolling down his body and soaking into his shirt. It stuck to his skin like an uncomfortable, heavy armor. The sun was high in the sky, and the heat was dense and heavy. Even here, deep in the forest, it was suffocating. The horses he and Arthur were riding were lathered in thick foam. In front of Merlin, Arthur lifted his hand slowly to wipe the sweat off of his neck. Merlin could only imagine how it felt to be boiling in the heavy chainmail Arthur was wearing.  
  
"Water?" Arthur asked, turning around to Merlin, and Merlin shook his head because they'd drunk it all. They were heading towards a stream though, so hopefully they’d be able to refill their waterskins soon.  
  
The heat intensified. It was almost palpable, like a dull press on Merlin’s chest, robbing him of breath, tangling his thoughts and making his limbs go limp. He leaned down on his horse's neck but that only made things worse, what with the animal’s body emitting additional warmth. There was something uncanny in the stillness around them, too. The heat seemed to hang, without a puff of air or a single leaf moving among the trees. It was as if they’d reached the eye of a sweltering tornado.

“Oh, here we go!” Arthur said cheerfully, as though he wasn’t as sweaty, tired and confused as Merlin was. He dismounted his horse, walking towards a small dark pond that was peeking out from the grass ahead of them.

It happened before Merlin could even form a coherent thought, before he could understand what Arthur was aiming at, and Arthur was apparently oblivious to what a sudden source of water in a dead, cursed place like this could be.

Merlin reached out to communicate something, to stop Arthur from touching the water. His hand suddenly felt alien to him—an animate object in front of his eyes, stretching.

“Don’t!” Merlin said after what felt like ages. Cold dread tightened his throat. His damp, sweaty clothes felt heavy and unpleasant, but all the heat had suddenly fled his body.

Arthur looked up from where he crouched, drinking the water from his cupped hand. The liquid flowed down his chin and onto his chest, leaving small beads on the armor that lingered there like pearls.

“What? It’s perfectly fine. It doesn’t smell. Come and have some, too.”

But Merlin just shook his head, waiting for the impending doom to manifest itself.

Arthur seemed fine though. He stood up and walked to Merlin, wiping his face and smoothing back his hair. Sun shone through the trees up above, casting golden and green shadows around them, and Merlin’s breath caught, because Arthur was sometimes so beautiful it was stunning. Moments like this made Merlin’s insides twist as if he’d been punched, and maybe he had been, or might as well have been, because he knew he’d be remembering this moment and reliving it over and over, until his chest would hurt from keeping the breath in, and tears would spill.

Arthur extended his hand. “Give me the skin.”

Merlin dug the waterskin out from where it was tied to his saddle and handed it to Arthur, letting his fingers slide a bit over Arthur’s hand, because if he couldn’t have Arthur in that way, he’d at least cheat, day by day, stealing little touches and relishing the gentle caress. He glanced up, fearing Arthur’s gaze, the clear blue of it that was even harder to take than the stolen touch, but there was no blue waiting for him. Arthur’s pupils were blown wide to the point where there was almost no iris visible. He was panting, and heavy sweat started to drip from his forehead and temples.

“Merlin!” he gasped and gripped Merlin’s arm tightly. His hand slid down as he stumbled, falling slowly to the ground until he was on his knees.

“Arthur, what?” Merlin was beside him in a second, touching Arthur’s face and throat, checking his pulse, looking into his eyes to find the source of the weakness. He knew the cause was the water—he just didn’t know what particular spell had been placed there.

“It’s so hot,” Arthur mumbled, and Merlin had to agree because the heat had come back in full force. “So hot. It burns.”

Merlin looked around and reached out with his magic, searching. “Let’s get you to the stream,” he said, hoisting Arthur up. “Come on. There’s a stream just ahead of us. It’s not that far. Come on.”

Arthur didn’t make any protest, he just let Merlin pull him up. He walked beside him obediently, leaning a bit on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin was thankful the horses were following them so they wouldn’t have to go back on foot to Camelot later.

By the time they got to the stream, Arthur was swaying hard and his grip on Merlin’s shoulder had tightened to the point of pain.

“Let me get you out of this.” Merlin started unbuckling the straps on Arthur’s hauberk and extracting him from the chainmail. Over the years he’d gotten so skilled at this he could do it half-asleep and with his eyes closed, but he couldn’t make his hands go fast enough now. Arthur was burning up—his skin sweaty-hot under Merlin’s fingers—and he was shivering hard.

Merlin pushed Arthur into the stream, still in his shirt and breeches, not bothering to take off his own clothes either. The water was gloriously cold, and Merlin hoped it would help cool Arthur off.

“Drink as much as you can,” he ordered, scooping water into Arthur’s mouth. “We need to wash down whatever poison there was in the pond.”

He hoped it would be enough, that the water would dissolve the poison before the fever did any damage to the king’s body. He knew he was fooling himself though. Poisons rarely worked this way, and without the help of a skilled physician, or magic Merlin couldn’t perform without the aid of Gaius’ books, Arthur might not make it back to Camelot alive.

“I need…” Arthur started.

“What?” Merlin stopped feeding him water to look up and check his eyes, but Arthur was looking down to where, near the stream’s surface, his breeches were tenting up.

“I need to…” He trailed off again.

The realization dawned on Merlin, and he started laughing because only Arthur would manage to drink from a pond with sex curse in it.

“Do it,” he said, still chuckling. “It’s okay, Arthur. Do it. It’s the magic from the pond. I’ll watch the horses, okay?”

But Arthur gripped him hard again, looking terrified. “No, Merlin. Don’t go. Something’s wrong.”

And Merlin stopped smiling because, indeed, there was something suddenly wrong with Arthur’s skin. It looked as though it had been covered with bruises that were expanding and darkening quickly.

Arthur swayed, letting the stream’s current push him into Merlin’s arms. His body felt even hotter to Merlin as he wrapped his hand around Arthur’s neck, holding him up. Arthur’s erect cock was poking at Merlin’s belly, and in any other circumstance this would have been heaven—awkward maybe, and heartbreaking later, but yes, heavenly good for Merlin for a moment. But not right now.

“Arthur, you have to… It’s sex magic. You have to just do it and be done with it.” He brushed his fingers over Arthur’s neck, touching the damp hair there.

“Merlin, please.” Arthur said it so softly, and he had to be so embarrassed, Merlin just knew how awfully ashamed he had to feel when Merlin, with his other hand, undid the laces for him and freed Arthur’s cock. The water was freezing, but the flesh there still felt hot against Merlin’s fingers.

Arthur dropped his head on Merlin’s shoulder and sighed as Merlin wrapped his fingers around Arthur’s shaft. Merlin tried really hard not to think how odd it felt to have that thick, smooth cock in his hand. He’d touched Arthur everywhere by now. He’d bathed him for fuck’s sake, in sickness, and after tournaments and battles when Arthur was too tired and too hurt to even move. It should be familiar, yet it wasn’t. Arthur had never been hard in Merlin’s hand before. It had never been like this.

For a while it seemed that whatever Merlin was doing was helping, because the bruises on Arthur’s skin retracted a little, and Arthur’s breathing evened up before it caught again and Arthur came, surprising Merlin. Long streaks of seed flowed down slowly with the stream’s lazy current.

When Arthur straightened up and looked up at Merlin, his eyes were still black though.

“It hurts,” he gasped, and Merlin’s heart sank because he could think of no spells to make it better. He tried to remember everything he knew about sex curses, Sidhe magic, and fertility rituals, searching frantically through his mind.

“You might need to spend inside of a person,” he finally said, tugging Arthur’s hand and leading him out of the water.

“Merlin, please,” Arthur said again, and Merlin thought that Arthur didn’t even know what he was asking for, not with how shivery he was, how burning hot.

“I’ll take care of you, I promise,” he said, placing Arthur on the grass by the water and running his hands over Arthur’s body, touching the dark bruises cautiously. He tugged on Arthur’s shirt and got it over his head and off his body. There were more dark lines forming on Arthur’s chest.

“Does this hurt?” Merlin asked, stroking Arthur’s skin lightly.

Arthur shook his head no, but he kept saying, “ _Merlin, please. Make it stop_.”

Merlin wanted to offer himself to Arthur, but he wasn’t sure Arthur would want him or any man in that way, or if he’d ever forgive Merlin for taking advantage of him in such a state. He pondered briefly if magic cared about what part of his body was used as long as there was sex between two people, and he decided he needed to try anyway.

“Okay, okay. Keep still,” he said, and he pulled on the wet fabric of Arthur’s breeches. It was so unfair that Arthur was such a sight, even sick as he was now and sprawled out on the ground against his will, gasping in pain. His cock was reddened, hard and twitching. Merlin couldn’t help himself when he stroked Arthur’s pubes, soft and golden, before he leaned down and engulfed Arthur’s cock with his mouth.

It tasted of nothing really. It was just warm skin, a bit salty-sweet at the tip where the pre-come had leaked, and Merlin was a bit disappointed. He’d always imagined that Arthur would taste unique, king-like, Arthur-ish, that he’d be a marvellous mixture of something gentle and potent, just the way he was in general.

For a moment Merlin closed his eyes and concentrated on what he was doing—on the gentle slide of his tongue under Arthur’s shaft, on the firm leverage of Arthur’s hips under Merlin’s hands. And then it was over again, and warm seed filled Merlin’s mouth. He swallowed, praying this was enough to satisfy the spell. But as soon as he opened his eyes he could see that it wasn’t. Arthur was shivering, still feverish, and the bruises had not diminished. So perhaps the magic wanted a particular kind of sex to be done, after all.

Merlin placed his hands over Arthur’s heart. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I have to try this. Forgive me.” He knew his eyes turned gold when he canted spell after spell, wishing it to work so he wouldn’t have to humiliate Arthur any further. He didn’t care if later Arthur would kill him, or maybe would show mercy and banish him from Camelot. If there ever had been a purpose to Merlin’s magic it was to save Arthur’s life, over and over again.

But not this time. Merlin was not even surprised to see no response to his doings other than a sharp intake of air when Arthur realized what Merlin was doing, what Merlin _was_. But there was no other reaction, and that was proof itself of how far gone Arthur was.

Arthur didn’t protest either when Merlin fumbled with his own breeches, tugging them down and off. Nor when Merlin spit on his fingers and brought them back to open himself as much as he could to just take Arthur in as fast as possible. He sank down on Arthur’s cock, wincing, feeling the burn and stretch of his body. It didn’t matter. There was no pain that Merlin would not endure to take Arthur’s ache away.

Arthur’s jaw was clenched, his eyes were shut tight, and his palms were clasped in fists, but his cock was rock hard as Merlin rode him, bringing him to yet another release.

However, it still wasn’t what the magic wanted.

xxx  
  
Merlin left Arthur on the ground, writhing, rolling from side to side, and he rushed to the horses, still half-clothed, feeling Arthur's come dripping down his thighs. He found a greasy salve he usually used for chapped lips, burns, and minor cuts, because he might have taken Arthur raw, but he wouldn't allow Arthur to take Merlin inside without preparation.

He was back in the blink of an eye, but it still must have been too long for Arthur, because he was gasping in pain, thrusting in the air, and it looked as if he was seconds away from losing consciousness.

Merlin had to hurry up.

“I'm so sorry, Arthur.” It came out as mumbling because Merlin couldn't inhale enough air, and he choked on the words. "If it were my way…" He started easing his fingers as gently as he could inside Arthur's hole, first just one, soon followed by another. He had to pin Arthur down to keep him from thrashing. “If it were the way I’ve always wanted it, I'd take my time with you. I'd kiss you there, you know? I'd kiss you, and open you gently with my tongue, and then my fingers, one by one, so you wouldn't feel the burn, just how pleasurable it can be. It _can_ be a pleasure, you have to believe me. And then I'd love you, slowly, until you'd come apart from me inside you and my fingers around your beautiful cock. Because it's so beautiful, Arthur. You're beautiful. And I'm so sorry it's like this.”

And gods forgive him, but he couldn't not enjoy the slickness and the oh-so-tight heat of Arthur around him once he’d pushed inside of him.

If it wasn't all an enchantment, Merlin might have thought that Arthur really wanted him, what with how he grabbed Merlin's hips to bring them closer, how he met Merlin's thrusts half way, how he moaned out Merlin's name. Then he reached out, cupped Merlin's neck and pulled him into a kiss. And that, _that_ should not be happening; Arthur's mouth should not be pliant and urgent at the same time, there shouldn't be so much passion and—fuck—emotion behind it all, and for sure Merlin's name should never be gasped out by Arthur between their tangled tongues.

Something harsh unraveled in Merlin because he knew that once the spell ended and Arthur pushed him away, full of disgust and shame for what they'd done, it would be the end of the world for Merlin. So if this was it, if Merlin couldn't have any more than this one moment, he could at least try to savour it, to remember this. How Arthur's skin felt so deliciously soft under Merlin's fingers as he ran his hands up and down Arthur's sides and chest in an attempt to soothe Arthur. Or maybe he just wanted to feel the hot flesh and the frantic beating of Arthur's heart underneath his palm when pressed tight to Arthur's chest. But most of all he'd never forget the way Arthur looked at him, not only as if Merlin was his only salvation, but also as if Merlin was something valuable, something to cherish—as if Arthur _loved_ him.

The sight of Arthur's eyes opened but hooded, eyelashes casting shadows and making Arthur's eyes even more dark, was just too much for Merlin, and he started crying as he fucked his king relentlessly. There was no turning back. He had to continue until he spent inside Arthur, and the spell—hopefully—would be broken.

He felt a sharp pull low in his stomach, and he cried out, shuddering his release. Swirls of golden lines burst from underneath Merlin’s fingers on Arthur’s skin, washing away all the darkened spots, making Arthur look glorious and unearthly. It was as if he’d been covered in glistening drawings that reminded Merlin of times when magic ruled the world.

Merlin was still panting over Arthur, and his tears were still dripping, when he saw Arthur beneath him was coming back to his senses—dirty and spoiled, crushed under Merlin’s weight. He thought how Arthur must feel: sore, opened up, with Merlin's come dripping down his thighs and he pushed himself up, intending to go to the stream to wash up and bring a wet cloth for his king.

“Let me wash you, Sire,” he said, for he didn’t know if he had the right to call Arthur by his name anymore.

But Arthur wouldn’t let him go. He wrapped his arms around Merlin gently. He seemed tired, or hesitant, or both. He stroked Merlin’s hair once, twice, and next Merlin felt a warm kiss on his temple. It was confusing, and not what Merlin had been expecting. He swallowed hard, his head spinning, because it must have been the spell still, even if Arthur didn’t look bewitched anymore, even if his eyes were back to their bright blue.

Soon enough though Arthur’s arms fell gently to his sides, releasing Merlin, who stumbled to his feet, all his muscles aching and shaking. They dressed quickly, Arthur batting Merlin’s hands away when Merlin tried to help him into his shirt. Merlin didn’t dare utter a word, so they tied the laces of their breeches and straightened the wet fabric in a silence that was filling Merlin’s heart with ice.

The horses were waiting obediently nearby. Arthur mounted his mare, wincing slightly when he sat back into the saddle. Merlin’s hands trembled when he wiped his face, bracing himself to hear comments that never came.

They’d been riding for a few hours, the forest getting thinner and thinner and the sun slowly setting, finally giving way to the evening chill, when Arthur said, without turning back to Merlin, “No one can know, Merlin. About... Nor about you. _No one_ , Merlin.”

Merlin didn’t answer. He just hung his head as low as he could. 

 

 


	2. “FROST”

**PART 2**

**“FROST”**

 

When Merlin thought later about the days that followed the incident in the forest, he couldn’t remember much. It felt as if he’d been thrown into a black hole without a bottom, falling and falling and never able to grasp onto something solid. On the surface everything seemed to be perfectly normal—he’d gone about his everyday chores, cleaning Arthur’s chambers, polishing Arthur’s armour, bringing Arthur’s food, carrying Arthur’s things—but despite all his duties revolving around the king, Arthur never seemed actually within reach. Where once there was a pull, now there was a push, and Merlin kept drifting around Arthur, never close enough, never able to touch or cut the distance.

Arthur had never referred to the incident nor to Merlin being a sorcerer. And if people saw the sudden tightness in Arthur’s jaw when Merlin was around, or the way Arthur kept avoiding Merlin’s gaze on any and all occasions, they didn’t say a word. Merlin could only hope that his own reluctance to be around the king wasn’t visible either, as every moment spent in Arthur’s presence held an edge of elaborate torture. If souls were punished for their sins before they entered the land of death, this right here was Merlin’s purgatory.

However, days and then weeks pressed on, and the pain in Merlin’s heart subsided, leaving him with a sense of numb detachment.

xxx

The first evening Arthur touched Merlin again, he was very drunk. The emissaries from the north were still feasting, but the queen had long since gone to her chambers. Eventually Arthur, too, was unable to maintain polite conversation, so he stood up, with a clear intention to retreat, and wobbled, propping himself heavily on the table.

“Merlin,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “A hand.”

For a one horrible moment Merlin thought of running away so he wouldn’t have to feel the warmth of Arthur’s skin on his, and wouldn’t have to remember how it felt to have Arthur splayed underneath his body, or to have Arthur’s breath so near his face. But he braced himself and stood straight, waiting for Arthur to lean on him and exit the dining hall.

As they walked through the silent corridors, Merlin kept his posture stiff, trying not to make a move that would bring him even closer to Arthur. In the chamber, where there was no sight of Gwen—as on the feast nights she would rather hide in her own rooms—Merlin lit the fire, blew out the candles, and straightened the bed covers, waiting for Arthur to get into bed so he could leave him for the night. He was about to turn around, his head bowed politely, when Arthur, who’d just come around the changing screen and was only in his loose nightshirt, caught his arm. The grip was tight, and it felt like an electric shock going through Merlin’s body.

“You never touch me anymore,” Arthur said, and there was sadness or maybe even remorse in his voice.

Merlin wanted to scream, “It’s not my fault, it’s you who avoid me!” But then his gaze dropped down to where Arthur’s fingers were wrapped around his forearm, and he saw the swirling lines of gold running up Arthur’s forearm from where their skin touched. Arthur jerked and dropped Merlin’s hand as if he’d been burnt. When Merlin gathered enough bravery to look up again, he was met with steely disdain.

He didn’t have to wait to hear the cold, “Get out,” from Arthur. He heard it well and clear in his head before the words were formed.

xxx

Merlin didn’t care much where he was going, he just knew he had to get away. Away from the suffocating walls of the castle, the whispers in the corridors, and Gaius’ worried looks. Away from Arthur. But most of all away from his own sudden, all-consuming anger.

The stables were silent and dark when he went in to get his horse— _Arthur’s horse,_ he had to remind himself, for there wasn’t much that actually belonged to him and not the kingdom. The night was cold. Merlin’s breath showed in small puffs of thick air, and frost made the blades of grass crack under his boots while he was leading the horse through the gates and then up the river path towards the forest. His fingers soon went stiff from the cold, but he stubbornly didn’t try to cover his hands. A little bit of pain hadn’t ever killed anyone.

It was dawn when Merlin stopped and dismounted the horse, or rather slid down from it, numb from the chilly air. He looked around, surprised he didn’t recognize the area. He was in the middle of a clearing, next to the ruins of some ancient altar. He shrugged to himself. This place was as good as any to sit and brood.

All the anger he was feeling threatened to be released. Sometimes he feared the violent forces hidden within him. What if they broke free and washed away the world around him until there was nothing left but an icy desert and him standing on the bare, dead ground? Even so far away from Arthur and the castle, he could still feel his fingers tingling, an ugly pain growing in his chest, and something wanting to burst free, roaring with only one purpose—to annihilate everything that ever existed so the rage that he couldn’t contain any longer would vanish along with the whole world. Merlin wondered if he would become like Morgana—bitter, vengeful and sad.

He sat on the grass heavily and dug his fingers into the damp dirt beneath the leaves, wanting to direct his excess energy somewhere before he’d go insane or hurt someone. Images of Arthur, and Arthur’s expression when he’d looked at Merlin this night with disdain and fear, flashed in front of Merlin’s eyes and made his chest tighten with pain. That final rejection tasted bitter like wormwood. Merlin allowed himself to fall back with a thump, hitting his head hard on the ground. His fingers curled in the grass, gathering up dirt. He pressed his fingernails into his palms and gritted his teeth, but no pain in the world would be enough to soothe him.

The raw anger kept rising and boiling inside of him, mixed with regret, so much regret he couldn’t say where it had come from. For one, he should be able to cherish the memories of having had Arthur in this way, but instead they haunted him like nightmares, invading his mind and making him want to curl up in a ball. He could recall times when he would dream of being inside Arthur and having Arthur’s arms around him. However, he’d never thought through what the aftermath of the rejection would feel like for him. And he’d give anything to take it all back and prevent Arthur from drinking from that pond. He kept replaying the moment in his head over and over, imagining himself being quicker in stopping Arthur before he swallowed the poisoned water.

The other thing was the magic. He’d always thought that if, one day, Arthur ever came to learn about Merlin being a sorcerer, he’d either accept it willingly—in Merlin’s most bold dreams—or there’d be serious consequences like a death sentence or banishment. Arthur’s cold indifference was like a slap to the face, as if Merlin’s magic was nothing at all, as if he’d been hiding it for years for nothing.

Merlin’s head was pounding. He felt the sweet and salty taste of blood in his mouth, and then sharp, blinding white light exploded in front of his eyes, robbing him of all other senses.

xxx

_The air smelled like smoke that crawled low on the sky, grey and heavy. Fire-stoves were lit in most of the houses at that time of the day, both to bring some heat to chilled walls and to prepare dinner. Whatever was on the stoves added richness to the woodsy scent of the fire. It was a good smell, very homey, but it made Merlin feel hungry, and his stomach rumbled in protest._

_“Here.” Will handed Merlin a half of his apple as if he could read Merlin's mind. Merlin took it gratefully and bit into the sour flesh. No matter how much food he consumed it never felt quite enough, and that year was tough, what with all the rains, and the flooding, and the rotten grain._

_The apple was gone in the blink of an eye, and there wasn’t much to do before dusk would swallow the earth completely and Merlin would be able to go home. He had a lot of time to kill if he didn’t want to interrupt Hunith doing her housework, or loiter in the kitchen pretending there was food where there really wasn’t. He sighed and wiped his fingers in the grass, which here, in the shade of the wood-shed they were both sitting behind, was still rich green._

_“Let's wank,” Will said, undoing his breeches with one hand._

_There was no saying “no” to that proposal, Merlin reckoned. What else was there to do anyway?_

_Will leaned his head back on a log and palmed his cock, grunting. “Oh man, have you seen Adele's boobs in that dress today? Gods, help me. If she didn't have that stupid troll of a husband, I'd place my face between those perfect globes.” He stroked himself in a fast, efficient way._ __  
  
“You'd suffocate,” Merlin laughed, taking his cock in his hand, too. He was hard already, although he suspected it had less to do with the vision provided by Will of Adele's curves than with the sight of Will's reddened cock vanishing in the boy's fist in rapid rhythm. Merlin imitated the movement. The friction was too dry though, so he paused to lick at his palm.

_“Good idea, man.” Will nodded in appreciation and spit in his palm, too._

_It took only that—that sight, and the sound of wet cock sliding inside of Will's hand—for Merlin to spill, sudden and hot. Beside him Will was very still, observing Merlin, with his hand still wrapped tightly around his erect shaft._

_“Do you know?” Will whispered. “Do you know that your eyes turn golden when you come?”_

_Merlin closed his eyes._

_When he opened them again he was in a cave. It was wet and cold, but Freya sat opposite him under the stone wall, wearing only a thin, ragged skirt._

_“Do you like me?” she asked, cupping her naked breasts in her palms. Somehow they were much bigger than Merlin remembered. Freya leaned forward, licking her lips. “Would you like to touch, Merlin? Give me your hand.” She reached out to Merlin, but he wasn’t sure if that was what he wanted._

_“You loved me once. We could be happy together. Just take this and cut this thread.” She handed him a pair of scissors that she’d kept hidden._

_There was an old, wooden spinning wheel standing in the corner of the cave. The thread woven on it was coming from two different skeins—one white and the other one black._

_“Cut this, Merlin, and you'll be free,” Freya said. Her voice was gentle, sweet like honey. “No more destiny to fulfill. No more heartache. We can be together, and I will love_ only _you. I'll take care of you, my love.”_

_Merlin looked at the scissors. The old and rusty metal felt cold in his hand. He thought of Lancelot. What would he do in a situation like this? “Fight,” he'd say. There had never been an easy way, from the very start._

_Merlin took a breath. The air in the cave was cold and damp, and there was vapor forming where Merlin exhaled. He realized his lips were trembling, and probably his hands shook too, when he placed the scissors on the soiled ground. Freya’s eyes were sad when he straightened up and closed his empty hands into fists. He couldn’t stand the tension any longer, so he swallowed hard and hid his face behind folded arms._

xxx

He must have fallen asleep, because when Merlin opened his eyes again he was back on the forest floor and snowflakes were dropping on his face one by one. The world had gone quiet, covered in the first fresh layer of snow. Oddly enough, Merlin didn’t feel cold, though he must had been out of it for quite a long time for the snow to cover that much of the land. His limbs were stiff, and there was an annoying black circle around his vision, making him feel as if it was darkening for the evening already.

He stood up, fighting dizziness, and since his horse wasn’t around anymore, Merlin started walking slowly towards Camelot. It was a long way, he knew it was a long way, but the next thing he knew he saw the door to his chambers. He had no recollection of how he’d gotten there, but here was Gaius, looking worried and relieved. Everyone started fussing about Merlin all of a sudden, touching him and trying to make him lie down, as if he hadn’t been lying down for hours before.

And then there was nothing but cool darkness.

xxx

In the days that followed, the most painful thing wasn’t the ache in Merlin’s chest when he coughed, nor the horrid throbbing of his whole body, nor even the blazing fire that gripped his throat when he tried to swallow whatever foul mixture Gaius kept pushing into Merlin’s mouth. No. The worst stabbing pain came from the realization that Arthur had never come to see him. Once or twice Merlin thought he’d heard Arthur’s voice, but whenever he opened his eyes, in those little moments when he was lucid enough to look around before he was out of it again, Arthur wasn’t there.

After he got better and people stopped talking over his head in hushed voices, the stream of visitors increased. People went in and out, barging in loudly like Gwaine, who demanded to know what had bloody kept Merlin for long days in the snowed-in woods, or standing in subdued silence like Mordred, who just stared at Merlin for a while, gave him a shy smile, and vanished. But there was no sign of Arthur. And Merlin never asked about him for fear of what he could learn.

The first day Merlin was better enough to stand, he crawled out of his bed feeling filthy and sticky and dreaming about a hot bath. He sat down next to the washtub that was filled with a few buckets of water and tried to convince himself that he could use a little bit of magic to warm it. There was no reason _not_ todo it, but when Gaius found Merlin a few hours later, he was still sitting there staring at the tub. The water was cold, and so were Merlin’s hands. If Arthur didn’t care about Merlin’s magic, Merlin wouldn’t care about it either.

“Come on, son,” Gaius said, hoisting Merlin up. “Lie down. You’re not yet well enough to be up.”

Merlin spent the next few days again in his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to feel sorry for himself.

In the end, it was Morgana who gave him a reason to get up.

“What?” he asked, sitting up, straining to hear clearly whatever Gaius was talking about with Leon. They both turned to him, as if surprised he was listening.

“Morgana’s troops have crossed Camelot’s borders again. We’ve dealt with them and we don’t suspect they will be strong enough to attack before the winter ends, but war is near,” Leon said. “We need to be prepared.”

xxx

The castle seemed much more peaceful than the last time Merlin had walked through the corridors. He still hadn’t regained all his strength yet, and he had to pause a lot, leaning on the walls, panting, his legs shaky and breath shallow. No one disturbed him or wanted anything from him. It was as if he was redundant, useless. Life had gone on without him, and even now people moved from place to place, carrying food or laundry or armor, but somehow whenever Merlin turned he found himself alone, in the middle of deserted hallways or abandoned rooms.

It was in one of the empty meeting halls that Gwen found him. She came in, all long robes and majesty, as usual surprising Merlin with the transformation she had made from the servant girl he’d once known to the queen she was now. For a few moments she just watched him, as if assessing him or searching for some information Merlin wasn’t sure he’d be able to provide.

“I know what you did,” she said. “He told me.”

There were so many things that Merlin had done and kept secret, but somehow he knew instantly what Gwen was referring to. He only hoped Arthur had spared her the details: how many things Merlin had tried, how many releases, how eager he’d been to have Arthur inside of him, and even more eager to push his own cock into Arthur’s body. And gods, he hoped Arthur didn’t remember how he’d moaned Merlin’s name when Merlin had spilled inside of him. If Arthur had told Gwen about the magic, too, it didn’t matter anymore.

Merlin sank to his knees, for if forgiveness wasn’t possible he still hoped for mercy. Minutes dragged, cut by the voices behind the castle walls and the small puffs of air Gwen was breathing in and out.

“I know why you did it. And, believe me, I'm grateful, Merlin, I really am. But... you can't have him like that ever again. I will… make sure.” She was still towering him, and her voice was cold, but then it broke and Merlin could hear her swallow hard.

“Merlin, please don't take him from me. This is the only bit of him I have for my own. Everything else? His heart, his time, his thoughts—I share it all with Camelot. With the knights. With you.”

Merlin was still looking at the floor, thinking that the stones he was kneeling on were as cracked and broken as he felt. “Not anymore. He hates me.”

“Why would you say that? After your horse had come back without you Arthur went insane. He never gave up searching for you in the snowy woods. And then, when you were back and so sick, I had to drag him out of your chambers so people wouldn’t start talking. They talk enough as it is.”

“What?” Merlin looked up, confused.

There was a sudden rush of air as Gwen knelt beside him and wrapped her arms tightly around him, hiding her face on his shoulder.

“Why is everything so complicated? You're my best friend, the only one I have left. I don't want to lose either of you. But I'm not ready to share him. I’m just not ready yet.”

They sat like that, Merlin enjoying the easy comfort of Gwen’s warm embrace, until someone called out in the corridor next to them, and the world that had been paused for a few peaceful moments moved on again.


	3. “THAW”

**PART 3**

**“THAW”**

 

It was a week later when Merlin, feeling much better—in fact, feeling almost _good_ —and trying to slip into Arthurs’s chambers in the morning to assist the king as before, was stopped by George walking with a breakfast tray.

“I’ll take that,” Merlin said, extending his hands, but George held the tray back.

“I’m fine now, and I can take it from here, thank you,” Merlin insisted, reaching out again.

George made a squeaky sound and moved two steps back, dodging Merlin once more. “I’m sorry. I was explicitly told not to allow you into the king’s chambers.”

It felt like a slap. After his conversation with Gwen, Merlin had started to hope that maybe Arthur wasn’t as disgusted with him as Merlin thought, but now it seemed as if his fears were confirmed: Arthur hated Merlin and didn’t want him near.

Merlin turned around without a word and walked back to his chambers, slamming the door behind him. He sat down on the bed and stared ahead, thinking about what Gwen had said: that everything was so complicated now. He wished he could go back to the simplicity of _before_.

xxx

Arthur was sitting at his desk writing when, in the evening, Merlin entered the chambers without knocking. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, hovering by the door.

Arthur looked up at him, expectant but silent.

“I'd like to resume my duties, Sire,” Merlin said, adding a slight bow for good measure.

When Arthur responded his voice was deceptively gentle, and it scared Merlin. This was not the typical mocking Merlin expected and knew, the kind in which the harshness was feigned. “Which duties, Merlin?”

It didn't feel like their natural bickering about Merlin being a crap manservant. This wasn’t Arthur teasing Merlin about how his sheets were crisply clean for the first time ever, under George's proficient hand. The thing was, Arthur seemed serious, waiting for Merlin's reply in silence, his eyes still and inquiring. He could have just as well hit Merlin.

Merlin took his hands from behind his back and looked at them, at how smooth the skin on his palms had become after weeks of idleness, and at how thin his fingers were these days.

“Please, Arthur,” he said not looking up. And then, almost inaudibly, “I hate being _useless_.”

Arthur laughed. “You _love_ being useless, you lazy arse. But what I meant, _Mer_ lin…” And here was Arthur’s familiar “don't be daft Merlin, let me explain it to you, you idiot” voice. Merlin exhaled in relief, a bit of tension leaving his body. “What I meant was whether you'd like to resume your duties as my manservant, as lame as you are, or…" Arthur’s voice gentled. “…you feel strong enough to guard Camelot with your magic again?”

Merlin stood in the familiar surroundings that all of a sudden seemed distant and blurry, feeling his heart thumping hard in his chest and hearing ringing in his ears. It was like plunging into deep water, cutting the surface of a cool lake on a hot summer day.

He looked straight at Arthur when he said, “Both.”

Arthur smiled at him, his perfect ‘I-am-the-sun’ blinding smile. “I was waiting for you to get better, but it’s good you're here now, as I need to speak with you." Arthur motioned to a chair on the other side of his desk. “Have a seat.”

Merlin moved wearily to the chair, his feet feeling heavy and his legs shaky. Once he was perched at the edge of the wooden chair, he folded his hands neatly on his lap, not knowing what he should do next. It was silly. He had been rude and careless in front of Arthur so many times before, but now he wasn’t certain of anything anymore.

Arthur looked Merlin straight in the eyes, his bright blues bearing an emotion Merlin wouldn't dare try to decipher. “I wanted you to know that magic is going to be allowed in Camelot again.”

Merlin took a breath, the air entering his lungs in a wheeze, but before he could utter a word Arthur waved him off.

“Now, now. Before you get too excited, it’ll go slowly. For now I’m only revoking the death penalty.” He looked sternly at Merlin. “It's still imprisonment for now, Merlin. And it will be awhile before I can lift that punishment, too. But gradually I'm going to issue more edicts, first allowing the healers to practice their magic.”

Merlin had imagined this exact moment so many times before, but found himself still astounded.

"Why?" he managed finally. Why was this happening now? Why not before? Why not right after they came back from the woods?

Arthur leaned on his elbows on the desk. “Do you remember that… incident in the forest in the Summer?”

Merlin nodded, because how could he not remember this?

Arthur shook his head. “I can't believe you hid this from me all this time. You made a nice fool out of me.” Merlin could see Arthur's fists clench for a moment before he released them, as if schooling himself to calmness. “I thought you were my friend,” he added.

Merlin thought nothing could hurt him anymore, but apparently he was wrong. He made a move to stand up, but Arthur waved him to sit again.

“Friends, Merlin, don’t hide they are secretly sorcerers who can annihilate you in a blink of an eye. Friends don’t lie and do thing behind your back. I had time to think this through, though. And I wanted to thank you."

Merlin looked up, surprised. Was this about his magic, or what he did to Arthur that day? Or was it even about something more? This conversation was a real swirl of revelations and conflicting emotions, and Merlin wasn’t sure he was following it properly anymore.

“That being said,” Arthur continued, “there are numerous things you'll need to confess.” And to Merlin's silent nod, he added, “But not now. There are other current pressing matters. I'll need to send an emissary to the druids. We need to solidify our alliance to the Old Religion and ensure their help in the upcoming war. I still hope it won’t come to that. I pray I can talk reason into Morgana. My emissary will have to try to make a pact with my sister once magic is declared legal in Camelot. Although I doubt she wants only the return of magic to Camelot. She wants the throne, and this I cannot give her.”

“I'll go,” Merlin stood up, ready to leave in an instant and already turning for the door.

“No,” Arthur said. “You’ll stay put right here. Mordred will go.”

Merlin turned around.

“What? No! You can't send Mordred!” Out of all the people in the world of course Arthur had to choose Mordred.

But Arthur was unmovable. “I can and I will. Don't forget yourself, Merlin. You may be a mighty sorcerer, but I am your king.”

This was all said in a calm voice, and never once did Arthur move from his seat behind the desk. Merlin fought an urge to smile, because this, right here, meant real trust. It meant Arthur not being afraid of Merlin. It meant normalcy. It meant the return of a possible future for Merlin.

“I won’t allow you to risk your life like that, Merlin. Do you have any idea what it did to me to see you dying?”

“I wasn’t—“

“You _were_ dying, Merlin. You don’t even realize it, do you? Gaius used everything he could. He performed magic _in front of me_ to save you. And in the end we still were just hoping. So, no. You’ll not go anywhere. Mordred has lived with the druids, and Morgana liked him once. He is a loyal knight and I trust his judgement. I can't possibly think of a better emissary, especially if he has magic, too?” Arthur raised a brow, challenging. When Merlin didn’t respond, as it wasn’t his secret to tell, Arthur nodded and sighed. “That’s what I thought. You, Gaius, Mordred. How many of you are there? Is George about to start heating my bath water and cleaning my armour with magic?”

Merlin bit his lip.

“No, you _wouldn’t!_ ” Arthur groaned, reaching for the heavy book lying on the desk in front of him and throwing it towards Merlin who ducked, laughing, and retreated to the door before Arthur reached for an empty cup.

He was in the corridor when he realized he never got the answer to his question. He slid his face through the crack in the door to see Arthur still sitting with the cup in his hand, staring blankly straight ahead.

“And what about my duties?” Merlin asked.

He managed to hide behind the door before the cup landed with a loud clang. So, no resuming of responsibilities other than being assaulted by the king, then. Merlin could do that.

For the first time in weeks, months maybe, the castle didn’t feel suffocating, the corridors didn’t seem abandoned, and the stone floor didn’t slow Merlin’s pace as if it were made of mud. Merlin stole an apple from a basket carried by a maid and ran away laughing to help Gaius sort whatever he needed done in his chambers.

xxx  

When Mordred didn’t return by the time the last snows started to melt, it was evident that his mission had been a failure. Or at least he’d achieved only the first part of it. The druids had come and gone, bowing in front of Arthur and then Merlin and pledging allegiance to their common cause. But they, too, shook their heads with sadness at the mention of Morgana.

“Sire, the High Priestess knows ways into human souls that were once forgotten and forbidden. Your sister is thirsty for power, my Lord. The war is near.”

Arthur just nodded.

And so Camelot was preparing for war. Horses were fed and trained. The hard clanging of blacksmith’s hammers was heard in every part of the city. Swords were being forged, silos were being filled up with grain and water in case it came to a siege, and emissaries from all around the country kept coming and going. Merlin, in the midst of all that rush, was _busy_ —running errands, assisting Arthur just like in the old days before everything went to hell, and, quite surprisingly, taking part in the talks with the allies. During the days he was way too occupied to take a moment to sit down and think or feel. At nights though, he lay awake for hours, terrified to fall asleep.

The dreams had started right after Morded left the Camelot yard, looking at Merlin over his shoulder, and then disappearing behind the gates in the dust his horse had scuffed up. That day Merlin’s limbs itched and his heart raced as he climbed the castle’s tower to watch the scarlet cape vanish from sight like a bloody sun setting down the horizon. Night after night Merlin awoke choking on his tears, images of Arthur wounded making him curl on his side, clutching his hair tight. On really bad nights he could feel Arthur’s warm blood slipping through his fingers as if it were all real.

He would have begged Arthur not to take part in the battle if he thought it would do any good. But if anything he’d only anger the king enough to send Merlin away from his side.

Sometimes images of cities and lands that Merlin was sure he’d never visited drifted before his mind’s eye. In those dreams, Merlin was always waiting for something, cold and tired and very lonely. He usually woke up with his face wet and his hands freezing, but he preferred this to the despair of watching the life leave Arthur’s eyes.

xxx

On the day of the battle Merlin found Arthur throwing up behind his tent. He said nothing as he offered a kerchief and his waterskin to the king. Arthur straightened up, his jaw clenched, his back tensed but hands steady where he held them on his sword.

“Don’t you dare leave my side. I want to have an eye on you at all times,” Arthur said. “I can’t be worried searching for the idiot servant of mine in the midst of the battle.” His voice lacked any bite though. “Merlin?”

Merlin looked up.

“I know you. I know you’ll want to be everywhere at once and save everyone. But please, stay close to me.”

When Merlin nodded, serious, Arthur extended his hand. “Good luck to us, then. May the gods guard us.”

Merlin wrapped his fingers around Arthur’s hand, finding that it felt cool and a little damp. As usual when they accidently touched, swirling golden lines flared up on their skin, going up their bodies and warming Merlin’s skin. And then Arthur suddenly pulled on Merlin’s hand, engulfing Merlin in a crushing embrace that lasted maybe five seconds before Arthur was releasing Merlin and walking towards the camp.

It was dawning, the first rays of sun slowly giving back colours to the grey surroundings, and Merlin prayed that they all would be granted the sight of the evening stars tonight. He took a deep breath. The earth under his feet was thrumming with magic, filling him up with raw energy. The force of it was so overwhelming Merlin had to shut his eyes for a moment to orient himself.

When he walked behind Arthur, the campfires lit up all around him, flames bursting blue and red into the sky.

xxx

In the end it was Merlin’s hand that gave the final push of the sword into Morgana’s heart. He knew it was something Arthur would never forgive him, even though Merlin had saved Arthur’s life.

There were many things that Merlin wished he hadn’t seen in his life—like the sight of bodies melting from the heat of the spells that spilled out of his mouth during the battle as easily as if he was singing a child’s song—but the regret in Arthur’s eyes while Morgana was falling definitely made the top of Merlin’s list.

“Come on. Help me get him to camp,” Merlin said to Mordred, who stood nearby, clutching his side and looking paler than a baker’s hands but otherwise fine. He could’ve stabbed Arthur a thousand times over before Merlin got to them and yet he didn’t, and Merlin thought he’d never be able to tell where Mordred’s heart lay in the end. It didn’t matter now anyway.

“I can walk on my own,” Arthur huffed, trying to get up and failing.

“Yes, I can see that,” Merlin said dryly, crouching down to brush Morgana’s hair from her face. She looked peaceful and so young, still so much a girl. _Sleep, princess,_ he thought. _No more nightmares for you._

He straightened up and joined Mordred on the other side of Arthur. That gash on Arthur’s thigh was nasty and needed a medic’s attention as soon as possible.

xxx

A feast was prepared for the returning troops on their first night back in Camelot. Meat pies, fish, fruit, sweet mead and watered wine were brought to the tables. Jesters and musicians were trying to lighten the moods of those for whom the victory wasn’t enough to celebrate in the light of the death of their beloved.

Merlin was sitting at the end of the long table where Arthur had told him to sit, and he just… couldn’t deal with it all. He wanted to get up and stand by the king, pour the wine for him, be busy, have something to do with his hands, be invisible again, have people stop staring at him and turning their heads in fear wherever he went.

He was suffocating under the attention, so when the music started to play after a short break, and everyone turned their gazes to the jesters performing, he slipped out of the dining chamber, walked down the corridor, and sat on the stone stairwell, pressing his throbbing head to the wall.

Everything seemed to be out of place. How was he supposed to feast when there was so much death around? So many friends had not come back from the battlefield. And Merlin, out of all the warriors, was responsible for the most bloodshed, even if he had saved the kingdom. He looked down at his hands and they were clear, of course, but he still could see the red stains as if they’d been painted into his skin when the blade was sinking into Morgana’s soft flesh. He could still hear the cries of dozens of men as they were being wiped out with the force of his magic, when he’d released it in the heat of battle, trying to get to Arthur in time.

The image still hit him every time, so hard, that he gasped and shut his eyes tighter, digging his fingernails into his palms, wishing for the pain to take the horrid memories away.

He heard a rustle of silk and then a warm hand curled around his neck, rubbing gently.

“You all right, Merlin?” Gwen asked, sitting down next to him. She smelled like rose and jasmine water, and Merlin thought the perfume suited her so perfectly.

“Yeah.” He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Yes, sorry.” He straightened up. “Just, you know.”

“She used to be my best friend, too. She was like a sister to me.” Gwen kept stroking his skin with her thumb, and Merlin found himself relaxing into this gentle touch.

“So much has been lost along the way,” he said, trying in vain to get a grip on himself and keep his voice even.

Gwen was quiet for a while, and the silence of the corridor was interrupted only occasionally by the distant music, and the voices of people cheering and tableware clacking. It felt like a prayer.

“But so much has remained,” she said finally. She squeezed her hand, giving Merlin a little shake. “You should celebrate life. I’m going to retire to my chambers, Merlin. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

And when Merlin didn’t respond, for he wasn’t sure he’d read that right, she added, “Go to him.”

Merlin looked at Gwen. “And tomorrow? How will this feel tomorrow?”

Gwen sighed. “We’ll deal with it tomorrow. Like we’ll deal with it every other time in the future when he needs you. Go now. Before I change my mind.”

xxx

Arthur’s chambers were warm from the fire lit earlier by a servant girl. Arthur, standing by his bed, allowed Merlin to untie the clasps on his cape and then strip him layer by layer of the clothes he was wearing. The room was silent but for the wood cracking in the fire, the whoosh of air in the chimney, and the rustling of fabric under Merlin’s unhurried fingers.

When Merlin was done and Arthur stood only in his shirt he let his hands stay on Arthur’s shoulders for a while longer. “Will that be all?” he asked gently, lowering his arms.

Arthur was silent, seemingly deep in thought, hesitant. He turned around to look at Merlin. It always surprised Merlin he was slightly taller than the king, and he had to bend his head down to look him in the eyes. They stood so close Merlin could feel Arthur’s breath on his lips.

“Lie with me tonight?”

Merlin nodded.

His chest burned hot, but tremors shook his body and his hands were ice-cold when he removed Arthur’s shirt and then unlaced his own clothing before they climbed onto the scarlet velvet duvet covering the bed. Merlin thought it felt like floating in an ocean of red and it reminded him of the haze of the battle. Funny, how the Pendragons’ colour could both be the symbol of death and love.

He’d said once that he wanted to make it good for Arthur, and he intended to keep this promise now. He whispered a warming spell before he dared to run his palms over Arthur’s skin. Arthur was breathtaking like this, still under Merlin’s fingers, like a sculpture of a perfect warrior. Merlin kissed Arthur’s shoulders, and moved down Arthur’s arms, placing small kisses on the inside of Arthur’s elbow, forearms and palms. If it was close to worshipping, so be it. Arthur’s breath was deep yet uneven, but he still kept quiet when Merlin leaned down to kiss the pink scar on Arthur’s thigh and moved up to pass his tongue along the underside of Arthur’s straining cock.

“I thought you hated me,” he said.

Arthur placed his hand on Merlin’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. “You know, Merlin? I never really thought you were that stupid.” He tugged on Merlin’s hair a little, making Merlin look up, and he smiled at him.

Later, with Arthur’s cock buried deep inside him, Merlin leaned back with his hands wrapped tightly around Arthur’s ankles and moved, slowly circling his hips to get the delicious, hard friction he craved. Below him Arthur lay still, watching him, the clear blue of his eyes visible from underneath the golden eyelashes. He placed his hands on Merlin’s hips and pulled.

“What will I do with you, Merlin?” He sighed, thrusting up. The pace was slow and gentle, as if they were not aiming towards any release.

“What do you mean?” Merlin sounded a little bit breathless, as Arthur had just hit a spot inside of him that made a hot wave of pleasure ripple through Merlin’s body.

For a moment Arthur breathed through his mouth, his lips parted and his hands clenched on Merlin’s hips.

“You,” he finally said, when Merlin thought they were done talking for the night. “You can’t be my manservant anymore. Everyone saw what you can do. I’ll need to do something. Appoint you my official court magician or advisor. Our resident sorcerer.”

Merlin leaned forward, placing his hands flat on Arthur’s chest. “Please don’t.” He wouldn’t survive not being able to be around Arthur the way he was accustomed to, not being able to touch Arthur again, hold his shirts for him or buckle his armour. “Arthur—" he started, but he didn’t know how to finish and was glad to find himself being pulled down onto Arthur’s chest.

“I don’t want to, either.” Arthur kissed his cheek. “But we’ll need to do something about it before people get too scared of you,” he added, his voice apologetic.

“And you? Are you scared of me?” Merlin dared to ask. He hold his breath, trying to prepare himself for Arthur’s answer.

Arthur’s eyes were steady, but Merlin saw a tiny gleam of mirth appear before Arthur answered, “Don’t be ridiculous. Of a bumbling idiot like you? If I wasn’t holding you tight, you’d have fallen onto the floor.”

Merlin extracted himself from Arthur’s grip, laughing, and sat up again to feel the slide of Arthur’s cock deep inside of him. Arthur’s skin felt familiar and perfect underneath Merlin’s hands—not too dry or too damp, but smooth and warm. The rhythm of their bodies was still slow enough that it was almost painful to go on, and Merlin welcomed with relief Arthur’s almost timid “May I?” and a light grip on Merlin’s neglected cock. After that it only took a few strokes before Merlin was spilling over Arthur’s body, shuddering and trying to contain the emotions ripping his chest in half.

He hunched over Arthur, too exhausted to go on even though he felt he should—after all Arthur hadn’t spent yet. Arthur pulled him down again, until Merlin was pressed flat to his body, oblivious of the mess of wet, sticky seed between them. He rolled them on their sides and wrapped one of his hands around Merlin’s neck, stroking the skin behind Merlin’s ear with his thumb. With the other hand he brought Merlin even closer, tugging on his hip and thrusting up fast. His cock felt thick and huge, almost uncomfortable inside of Merlin, and then it throbbed hard while Arthur’s hands clenched, and he said something unintelligible into Merlin’s skin.

Dogs barked outside and someone’s steps were heard, followed by the clank of a metal bucket. The sounds of the sleeping castle were normal and soothing, and so was Arthur’s palm rubbing Merlin’s back in even circles. It brought back memories of the way Arthur stroked Merlin back on the riverbank right after the spell had been broken. Merlin felt a wave of bitter taste flooding his mouth at the memory.

But this time there was no magical compulsion, only free will and desire, and Merlin made his body relax against Arthur’s, smiling at the thought of all the promises he had yet to fulfil. And for once he looked forward to the future.

“Did you know,” Arthur murmured into Merlin’s hair. “Did you know your eyes turn golden when you come?”

xxx  
  
The night was fresh, the air scented with grass, spring flowers and bonfires. Merlin felt lightheaded as he climbed up the stairs to the castle ramparts. He stood leaning on the edge of the wall, looking into the star-patterned sky. He could still feel Arthur's hands on his skin and he lifted his hand, touching his fingertips to his mouth, trying to preserve the feeling of Arthur’s lips on his. He hadn’t planned on leaving Arthur in bed alone and sneaking out, but he couldn’t resist the pull of a creature of magic beckoning to him. Soon he saw a shadow move over the forest.

“Coming,” he said in his mind, and he descended the steps, heading towards the woods.

He was just reaching the clearing when the air behind him swirled and a heavy shadow landed with a soft thump.

Merlin nodded to Kilgharrah. “I didn't call you,” he said. “Can I do anything for you?”

“I came to say goodbye.”

Merlin stood still, not sure what to say. He felt a lump in his throat.

“Why?”

“My time is about to end, young warlock. This land doesn't need me anymore. And neither do you. You've fulfilled your destiny.”

“So it was enough to shag the king to turn my destiny?” Merlin asked bitterly.

Kilgharrah snorted, smoke leaving his nostrils. “Don't be vulgar. You know better what turned destiny.”

Merlin wrapped his arms around himself against the night’s slight chill. “Where will you go?”

“Behind the veil. The time of dragons in Albion has ended.”

“I’m sorry about Aithusa,” Merlin said, and Kilgharrah lowered his head.

“I’ll miss you.”

“We’ll meet again, young warlock. It was a privilege to know you.”

After Kilgharrah set off and disappeared behind the blue shadows of the mountains, Merlin climbed back into the castle, soundlessly slinking by the guards chatting sleepily by the door.

Arthur was lying on his back in bed, his skin silvery pale in the light coming from the window. His lips were slightly parted and his arms were spread wide. For a while Merlin considered going back to his chambers and leaving the king undisturbed in his sleep. But then he shed his clothes and carefully crawled in next to Arthur, covering them both with blankets. Arthur grunted and moved, curling around Merlin, his heavy arm feeling like a stone crushing Merlin’s bones.

“Umpf,” Merlin said, wriggling a little against the grip. But when Arthur squeezed him again, he just smiled and closed his eyes.

Underneath them the earth’s energy swirled in warm circles, content and sated.


	4. “LIGHT”

**EPILOGUE**

**“LIGHT”**

 

Merlin stirred the dark green water with his feet, splashing it and revelling in the feeling of cool liquid caressing his toes. The day was hot, and it was a relief to take his heavy boots off after the day of riding, roll his breeches up to his knees, and immerse his feet in the water. Beside him Arthur leaned back on the log they were sitting on and bit into his apple while placing his feet next to Merlin’s in the lake.

Merlin closed his eyes and leaned his face towards the sun, resting. The peace of this place was soothing, the sounds of the whispering trees over their heads and the humming of little insects buzzing lazily in the grass were familiar, and brought back the memories of summers long past.

“So what do you suggest we do with it?” Arthur asked, nudging Merlin and pressing half of his apple into Merlin’s palm.

“What, this?” Merlin opened his eyes and squinted in the sun holding the apple up. “I suggest we eat it. Unless your kinky mind has other purposes for this fruit?”

Arthur punched Merlin in the arm, evoking an offended “Ouch.”

“No, you idiot. The sword. What are we going to do about the sword? You didn’t make me drag this heavy bastard here for nothing, did you?”

Merlin looked at the water, its calm surface glistening in the sun and then disappearing in the mist that was always present here no matter the weather. Sidhe magic, Merlin thought.

“We give it back,” he said.

Arthur reached behind them and dragged the heavy blade towards them. He sat up and turned the sword in his palm until it caught the light. The reflection moved across Arthur’s skin, and for a moment Merlin had a strange feeling of déjà vu, and he could swear he heard the roar of a battle and the clang of metal.

“Such a fine blade,” Arthur whispered. “It’s a shame to throw it away.”

Merlin shook his head. A shadow of dread curled at his heart, even though his nightmares had stopped long ago. “It’s not ours to keep.”

When Arthur didn’t respond, Merlin continued softly, “I used to have these dreams, you know? Of you kneeling on a field covered with bodies, clutching your side where the blood spilled from a mortal wound. And this lake… In some other life I bid you farewell here. This is why I feel that we need to give the sword back. Because there might be another Arthur and Merlin somewhere needing it to win their battles.”

Arthur’s eyes were serious for a brief moment while he watched Merlin. Then he stood up on the log and swung his arm. The blade whirled in the air slowly and dove in the lake, disappearing with a dull sound. Circles rippled on the water where it cut through the surface.

 Arthur lingered for a moment in silence, and then he took a breath and said lightly, “Don’t be daft, Merlin. I am the one and only. There’s no other Arthur like me.”

Even if Merlin agreed in his heart, he shook his head with feigned disapproval. “You might be right. The world is just not big enough for your ego. Or for your huge belly for that matter. You’re getting fat.”

Arthur huffed. “I am _not_ fat. You. Will. Pay. For the insult!”

Before Merlin could grab anything for support he was being dragged down and into the water, squirming and laughing and trying in vain to free himself from Arthur’s grip. Merlin took a deep breath before they both dove deep, Arthur tugging on Merlin’s hand until they hit the sandy bottom. Over their heads the rays of the sun cut through water, creating a pattern of stripes. Merlin’s eyes met Arthur’s for a brief moment before Arthur pulled Merlin towards him. The kiss that followed was gentle and sweet, and Merlin could feel Arthur’s smile on his lips right before they both kicked the sand to swim together towards the surface.


End file.
